The Bud
by queryl
Summary: Morgana and Arthur ponder one antoher on a hot summer night. It was originally written to be part of another story but it didn't fit. So it's now just a short piece as it is.


Morgana closed her eyes and let the slight evening breeze waft against her.  
Strange, but she felt suddenly wary, as though she were being watched. Her  
eyes flew open and she could she Arthur clearly, even though he was standing  
in darkness. He was regarding her frankly, boldly. His obvious gaze left her  
feeling awkward and vulnerable. Morgana would swear that he was smirking, then  
the smirk became a courteous smile accompanied with a formal bow executed for  
her benefit. She wanted to steel herself against his arrogance, his maleness,  
his beauty. Of course she found him desirable, she'd have to be dead not to  
do so. That was the problem; Arthur knew exactly how a attractive he was. At  
least, the fact of his incorrigibility helped to take her mind from her  
troubling vision. No, it had been dream. Morgana fervently wanted to make  
herself believe it was nothing more than a nightmare.

Damn Arthur in his utter smugness, and oh, just how much he troubled her  
equanimity. She imagined herself enmeshed in a golden haze of . . . what? Lust  
for Arthur? How could she be one of those silly things who longing gazed after  
him, hoping that their glorious prince would grant them his attention by using  
them has his playthings for a bit. She wasn't one of them. Still -- what?  
Morgana did allow herself the fantasy of being entwined with Arthur, her  
breath caught with his tongue flicking into her mouth, a private message in an  
ancient, wordless language. The sensation of him pushing up and inside of her.  
She chided herself for such a foolish, girlish fantasy. It was merely the  
discomfort of a summer night.

She pulled her wrap more tightly around her and slammed the casement closed,  
her hair fanning out to then stream like an shimmering obsidian waterfall.

* * * * *

In the shadows of his own window, Arthur smiled lazily and stretched some  
tightness out of his back. He pondered the luscious Morgana. It seemed  
strange, at times, to think that her regarded the scruffy, little tomboy who  
had bested him, sometimes, when they were children, as luscious. Yet, she was,  
and he did. Although, he wouldn't tell her that. Well, not directly.

He really shouldn't regard her that way at all. Not with Uther, very much,  
beginning to view Morgana as a marriageable commodity who could be used to  
great advantage in seeking valuable alliances. Such was the lot of noble and  
royal girls. Arthur almost felt sorry for his father presenting that subject  
to the little wild cat.

Morgana was very much like a young wild cat. She could be as capricious as any  
feline and she was in one of her tempers again, evidenced by her  
slamming the window at his gaze. It was a hot night, she'd open it again.  
Still, the sight of her limned in perfectly sculpted relief by moonlight, like  
a silvered apparition and in a more base appreciation of the lady's charms,  
Arthur chuckled to himself that Morgana had quite desirable topography. Yet,  
there the she-cat was in a hissing, spitting mood in her room. Very well, but  
wild cats could, and did, also purr.

Arthur softly taunted Morgana's now empty window by saying, "Don't be so  
offended by what you may consider my very rude member. He does your an honour  
my lady by standing up in your presence."

She would fume if she'd heard that. Still, it did little good to have the  
lovely Morgana, (damn, when exactly did the scruffy, little ruffian become such a  
beauty?), excite him. Of course, he'd noticed her before, he'd have to be dead  
not to have been aware of her blossoming. But when exactly had it happened?  
Regardless of what she looked like she was still an irritating little urchin.  
He wished it were earlier, so might have found a soft, willing companion to  
help him wile away what would likely be a sleepless night. His father had  
ordered him to take part in training exercises early, very early, the next  
morning. So there he'd be, Arthur Pendragon, tossing in twisted sweaty sheets  
bearing the stains of his nocturnal imaginings.

Of course, Merlin would pull a prissy, disapproving face when he collected the  
bed linens. As if it never happened to him. Merlin could be such a git.

It would have been a relief to have had the time for Arthur to have enticed  
the new kitchen maid to his chamber. He had a bit of an interesting time with  
her in the pantry a few days before. There were always willing females for  
Prince Arthur. Girls and women who sought to gain his eye . . . and more. He  
could have his generous moments, accommodated and indulged in as many as  
he could. Everyone one was happy and princes paid in silver.

Some of these warm and willing females were even ladies. Arthur learned much  
from them. He might even learn discretion if he persevered.

As for Morgana, have mercy Morgana, even if it weren't a hot summer night,  
he'd still be covered in sweat from his musing about her.


End file.
